


You Are a Tourist

by kaelabb



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Minor Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-26
Updated: 2016-12-25
Packaged: 2018-08-27 01:42:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 18,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8383000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaelabb/pseuds/kaelabb
Summary: Up-and-coming DJ Lucio Correia dos Santos is never adverse to meeting new people or trying new things.But by taking a gig in Japan and befriending a local with more than a fair share of secrets, he might have bitten off more than he can chew.--Tags/rating will update as the story progresses.





	1. Chapter 1

_And if you feel just like a tourist in the city you were born,_  
_Then it's time to go_  
_And define your destination._  
_There's so many different places to call home_  
_Because when you find yourself the villain in the story you have written,_  
_It's plain to see_  
_That sometimes the best intentions are in need of redemptions,_  
_Would you agree?_  
_If so please show me._

The sharp cold air of one in the morning stabs at Lucio’s lungs like needles, a welcome change from the suffocation of too many bodies writhing in too small a space. He nods at the bouncer as he walks past, fishing a pack of cigarettes and a lighter from his pocket. He’s going to stop, has tried once or twice, but between exhausting himself with gigs and keeping up with online classes, something always drags him back into old comforts. 

He turns a corner and stops to lean against the building, watching the empty street. Moisture glistens on the surface of the pavement, sprinkled with pale cherry petals just beginning to decay. Lucio thinks he likes this place, a little smaller and quieter than the cities he’s used to playing, but it’s as lively a venue as any and pays well enough.

Besides, this was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity and a hell of a good sign. He got plenty of local gigs back home in Rio de Janeiro, but this would put his name out there and get his foot in the door for more international work, according to his agent. As long as he gets to mix music for people and get paid for it, Lucio is happy. Visiting a city nestled in the Japanese hillside on the cusp of a lush green summer is just an added bonus.

Lucio looks up from his cigarette when a local man suddenly rounds the bend, the same way he had come, and ambles toward him. Lucio’s eyes are drawn up to his shock of hair, as green as Lucio’s logo. He couldn’t go anywhere without drawing attention. “Hello,” the stranger says once he’s within speaking distance, his English deliberate and enunciated, “Do you mind if I join you?”

Lucio raises his eyebrows but offers a smile. “Sure thing, man,” he says, and offers up his smokes. The stranger holds up a hand and shakes his head, leaning on the wall next to Lucio. The casual blazer hugging his torso over a V-neck tee looks expensive, but he doesn’t seem concerned about it getting dirty or torn on the brick at his back. “The name’s Lucio, by the way.”

“I am Genji,” he responds, accepting Lucio’s extended hand for a hesitant shake, and when they release, he bends away from the wall in a slight bow at the waist. Lucio remembers himself, then, and mirrors the gesture.

“Nice to meet you, Genji,” he responds. He takes a drag from his cigarette before adding, “Can I help you with something?”

Genji blinks at him, like he hadn’t been expecting that. “Ah.” His gaze flickers away as he considers his response. “You seemed familiar with the bouncer at the door.”

Lucio shrugs. “I opened for the main DJ tonight, just came out for a smoke.” He pauses and glances at Genji, realization dawning on him. “You want me to get you into the club.”

His teeth flash in a sheepish smile, and he shuffles his feet. “Am I that obvious?”

“A little,” Lucio responds with a laugh. He drops his cigarette and crushes it under his toe, then picks it up to throw in the trash. Smoke he might, but littering always niggles at the back of his mind. Such softness of his conscience is the same that compels him to shoo bugs out the window rather than squish them.

Genji is silent next to him. He really has no reason to say no, and anyway, he’s never been one to let down someone cute in need. Softness gets the better of him yet again. “Don’t worry about it, I got you.” He gestures for Genji to follow him back, retracing their steps. Genji’s hot on his heels as he returns to the club, and the bouncer quirks a brow at Lucio as they pass but says nothing as the pair descend into pulsating strobe lights and the thumping mix of the DJ Lucio had opened for. “Allow me to buy you a drink, as thanks,” Genji says, leaning closer to Lucio’s ear to be heard.

The bar is tucked away on the opposite side of the expansive room, music vibrating in Lucio’s veins but not drowning out Genji’s voice as long as he doesn’t go too far. They order their drinks, and then Genji turns to face him with a smile crinkling the corners of his eyes. “You said you are a DJ?”

“Yeah, that’s right.” Lucio hops up onto a bar stool and leans on the dark polished countertop. “It just started out as a way to pay the bills, you know? Put myself through school. But damn if it isn’t addicting.”

Genji hums in interest and accepts his cocktail from the bartender, who hands over Lucio’s beer a second later. He quizzes Lucio about what being a DJ is like—exhilarating but exhausting, and school—trying to get through undergrad, grad school is a distant future but he had always wanted to be a nurse. Genji is easy to talk to, smiling often and sharing tidbits of himself in reciprocation to Lucio’s – he went to private school and has been training in _kendo_ since he was young. He laughs heartily when Lucio asks him to teach him some moves.

Flush with just the right amount of alcohol and the energy of the club, Lucio sheds what few reserves he had and thinks he could sit here chatting with him all night, but Genji has other ideas, as eventually he gets down from his seat and stretches his back. His V neck stretches over his chest in a way Lucio thinks should be illegal, and the fact that it doesn’t tear is definitely a testament to the quality of his clothing. He turns to Lucio, who flushes warm in the dark and praises night clubs for being poorly lit. Genji gestures toward the dance floor and grins. “Would you like to join me?”

Lucio hadn’t planned on sticking around here for long; he had kept the next few days unbooked to give himself a rest, and he’d fully intended to sleep for at least ten hours after this gig. But he follows Genji to the dance floor with a smile and not a second of hesitation. He’s had a long day, but Genji draws him in, something magnetic about the eclectic combination of expensive clothes and dyed hair, and a gentle smile in a rowdy nightclub.

The tang of sweat fills his nose sharp and sour as they get closer, winding themselves into the sea of pulsing light and anonymous bodies. If Lucio hadn’t already exerted himself hauling equipment and then working up the crowd during his show, he would throw himself wholeheartedly into it, but as it is he doesn’t go far from Genji and follows Genji’s lead. The shifting tide of people around them presses them close together, close enough that Lucio can feel the firm swell of Genji’s bicep through his blazer whenever they bump into each other. There’s a chance Lucio sidles closer to bump against his side again.

Lucio’s muscles tire quickly. He’s beginning to consider asking Genji if he wants to get another drink when he notices a man coming straight for them. His eyes are on the distinct crop of green hair as he twists around and elbows into people to clear his approach. “Uh,” Lucio begins to speak, but then someone else appears from behind him and catches Genji’s attention.

He says something heated to which Genji responds in kind, and Lucio tries to squeeze himself between them. “Hey, hey, hey,” he interjects, “Genji, you know this guy?”

The stranger snarls something at him in Japanese, and the man Lucio had first spotted claps his hand down on Genji’s shoulder and tells the other one something, then turns to Lucio. “This is not your concern,” he says in choppy English, blocking Lucio from following when Genji and the second man disappear, “You must stay out.”

“Like hell! What’s going on?” Lucio snaps, balling his fists. He may not know exactly what was going on, but he knew Genji was sweet and friendly, and he could tell these men had none too kind intentions with him. He wasn’t going to stand idly by and let them drag Genji off like this.

The man squares his shoulder and lifts his chin, leering down at Lucio. “Mind your own business,” he says, threats hanging to his words. Lucio doesn’t. He may be short as hell and has never exactly gone looking for fights, but he doesn’t back down, either. He’s not going to pretend nothing’s happening if someone could get hurt.

The stranger snarls and pushes him back, sending him colliding into a woman who loses her balance and tumbles into the person she’d been dancing with. Someone – Lucio isn’t sure who – yells. Lucio lurches forward, barreling his shoulder into his assailant’s stomach. A hand tangles in Lucio’s dreads, dragging them both backward a few steps, and when he regains his balance he smashes Lucio’s face into a raised knee. A crack resounds through his head, white hot pain washing over his face, sparking behind his eyes.

Then he gets thrown back, gasping around the gush of blood, and staggers to keep his footing. They stare at each other, calculating, and then Lucio makes his move; he runs. He turns around and makes a break for it, darting past the people watching the fight and murmuring. Advantage of a miniscule stature: disappearing into a crowd is easy.

Breaking out of the dance floor, he whips his gaze around and catches sight of Genji and the second intruder on the other side of the room, joined by a woman now as well, the two of them hemming Genji into the corner. Lucio breaks into a run. The man has a finger stabbed against Genji’s chest, leaning in dangerously close. Lucio can just pick up the angry Japanese, is just opening his mouth to yell an interruption, when the woman swings low and lands a solid fist in Genji’s stomach.

“Whoa!” Lucio lunges forward the last few feet, grabbing her by the shoulders of her jacket and throwing her backward. She’s caught off-guard and staggers back, and her companion twists around in surprise. Genji uses the opportunity to swing his leg into the back of the man’s ankles, dropping him to the ground. The woman reaches into her jacket and flicks out a switchblade. “Oh, shit,” Lucio gasps.

Genji snatches his wrist from behind and tugs. “Come on!” he cries, practically dragging Lucio with him toward the door. Lucio glances over his shoulder, watching the two start to take up pursuit, but then men in uniforms stop them. Security. People are pointing after Genji and Lucio, a security officer yells something that is probably “stop,” but Genji only picks up speed. His legs being shorter, Lucio has to turn around and focus just on keeping up.

They burst out onto the street and don’t slow down until Genji stumbles and runs out of breath a block later, gasping and clutching his stomach. Lucio puts a hand on his shoulder, wondering if he’s going to fall over. “You okay?” Speaking rattles his head, nose beginning to throb. Lightning crackles in his veins, sparking and buzzing in his head, making him want to run, yell, do something.

“I… am fine,” Genji says after a moment, looking up at him from his slouch, “Thank you for helping me.” His face screws up. “Your face.”

“Uh… yeah.” Lucio reaches up to brush a fingertip against his nose, hissing with the flash of pain. “Dammit.”

Genji guides him to a streetlight where he can get a better look at it. “I think it is broken,” he murmurs, guilt and sympathy clogging up his voice. “I am so sorry, Lucio, you should not have gotten involved.” He looks up and down the street, looking lost, as if the answers as to what he should do now would be right behind them. When no magical solutions appear, he takes a deep breath and scratches his cheek. “Come with me, let me get you taken care of. It is the least I can do.”

“Okay.” Lucio pulls off his hoodie, careful to maneuver it around his face, and bunches part of it up. He only has a close-fitting tank top underneath it. “Who the hell were they?” The hoodie he presses gingerly under his nose; a considerable amount of blood is still coming out, and the clothing was ruined from the initial spatter anyway.

Genji shakes his head. “It is… complicated. There is nothing to do about it.” He smiles, a repentant gesture. “And I do not want to involve you further.” He takes off his blazer and drapes it around Lucio’s shoulders. It is soft and warm with Genji’s lingering body heat.

Lucio lets the subject drop and focuses on stifling the bleeding. He doesn’t know what else to do but follow Genji’s lead down the street, pulling his phone from his pocket. It’s a little after two o’clock, not terribly late by DJ standards. He wonders if these are typical hours for Genji to keep.

Since speaking is a difficult and delicate affair for Lucio but silence is too awkward for both of them, they make tentative conversation with easy unimportant topics, like music and food, Genji’s voice dominating with his favorite native traditions and dishes. Eventually he gets bored of that, or runs out of things he wants to say, and interrogates Lucio on what he has tried while in Japan.

“Oh, Lucio.” Pity and a hint of concern lace Genji’s voice as they cross a street, upon receiving a shake of Lucio’s head when asked about ramen. “That is very sad.”

He lifts his shoulders in a shrug, defensive. “Instant stuff back home. That count?” he asks around his hoodie.

The sigh Genji releases is longsuffering, an expulsion of whatever disappointed and agonized thoughts are going through his head. “Having the word ‘ramen’ on the package does not make it proper ramen. How do you make it? How do you cook the meat?”

“The instructions on the package don’t say to add meat,” Lucio points out, distracted now from the pain that’s spread to prickle hot behind his eyes. “The noodles on their own are easy to cook and like fifty cents apiece.”

Genji’s smile glimmers in his eyes in the fluorescent street light. “I suppose that is a fair point. My brother and I make it for each other whenever we are sick, it is a wonderful comfort food.” Lucio digests that quietly, and Genji doesn’t say anything more on the subject.

In less than ten minutes Genji brings him to a tall apartment complex. Lucio’s not surprised at how nice the building looks; whatever Genji does with his time during the day, a subject he hasn’t touched so far, it compensates him very well. They take the elevator to the fifth floor and come to door 512. “I share this apartment with my brother,” Genji explains while he unlocks the door, “He is probably asleep by now, though.”

The apartment they step into is tidy and open, occupied with soft neutral colors and a blend of traditional and contemporary furniture. They kick off their shoes by the door, and Genji herds him through the living room and into the first door in the hallway. A bathroom.

When he sees himself in the mirror, Lucio has to fight off a grimace that would definitely hurt like hell. Blood is smeared all over his lower face, caked in his goatee. The bridge of his nose is swollen and mottled purple. Genji retrieves a dark washcloth and dampens it with warm water, helping Lucio dab gingerly at the blood. His fingers hold Lucio’s chin still, a gentle and careful touch that’s almost jarring in contrast to the pain.

“It is not crooked, it should heal fine,” Genji says as he inspects the injury. Lucio, trying not to move his head, gives him a thumbs-up. “Some gauze should help the bleeding.” He produces a first aid kit from under the sink and digs out a gauze pad and a pill bottle. Lucio rolls up the gauze pad and slides it into his right nostril, flinching, while Genji shakes two white pills from the bottle. Looks like acetaminophen, which Genji confirms when he says, “These will help with the pain. I will get you water.”

“Thanks. An ice pack would help too, if you’ve got one.” Lucio watches Genji clean up, put the first aid kit away, muddle over the washcloth and hoodie. “Ah. Don’t worry about that, man, I can get a new one.” Genji just leaves them in the sink for now and leads Lucio out.

At a slower pace and without blood gushing out of his head, Lucio gets a better look at the place and releases a low whistle. “Nice place,” he remarks, following Genji through the living room into the kitchen. The décor is a blend of modern amenities and traditional Japanese aesthetic, paintings hanging on the wall and bookshelves punctuated with little trinkets. Not a speck of dust to be found. It’s comfortable, if impersonal, like a staged apartment for a catalogue.

Genji scratches his cheek with his index finger. “Ah, thank you. It is not much, really.” Lucio and his studio apartment back home beg to differ. “Our father’s business pays very well, and my brother works very hard for him.” He speaks while he hurries about the kitchen, distracted, filling a cup with water and getting an ice pack from the freezer.

The pills go down with a little difficulty. The ice pack sends a chill down his spine but takes the surface edge off the sharp burn in his nose. “You do that too? Work in the family business?” Lucio leans back against the counter, watching Genji flutter about the kitchen collecting utensils and ingredients. “What are you doing?”

“No, I do not.” He turns on the stove to boil water and glances at Lucio to smile, though it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. Tension similar to outside the club darkens his face, starker in the clear light of the apartment. “I… thought you might need some food. Would you like something to eat?” Choosing to let the topic slip, Lucio nods, which brings Genji’s good humor back. “You told me you had music to share. I would like to hear it.”

How good at deflecting he is. Lucio retrieves his phone from his pocket and gives untangling the earbuds onehanded his best effort, but eventually he has to set down the ice pack. One bud he hands over to Genji, the other he puts in his own ear. “What’re you in the mood for? I’ve got a little of pretty much anything.”

“You are the DJ,” Genji says with a shrug, fitting his earbud into his ear and turning away from his cooking to watch Lucio flick through his music library. He’s not particularly tall, but he has a good five or six inches over Lucio and looms over him just a little too close with his eyes on the screen in Lucio’s hand. Lucio puts all his attention on the list of songs.

“Here, try this one out.” Lucio taps a title and falls silent as the beat starts to pulse and grow. They only stand there and listen for a moment, Genji nodding his head to the rhythm, but then he returns to cooking, boiling water in a pot and adding noodles. He flies through the motions of frying pork, cutting vegetables, and heating broth with the ease of familiarity. Lucio sees it coming together, remembers what Genji had said about comfort food. “Ramen.”

Genji glances at him from straining the noodles, soft color rising in his cheeks. “Yes, well. Like I said. It is a comforting recipe.” He finishes with the pork and puts it all together in two bowls. 

“Wow, man. Thanks. You didn’t have to do all this,” Lucio says, leaving his thawed ice pack in the sink, but instead of answering Genji only smiles and hands him one of the bowls, his blush darkening a shade or two. Easily flustered under praise.

They tuck into the food at a tiny table that definitely couldn’t fit more than two people at a time. Genji returns his borrowed earbud. “I am sorry again,” he admits, gaze flickering up to Lucio as he picks at his soup, chopsticks badgering a chunk of pork, “They recognized me as my father’s son. You did not have to intervene, that was… very courageous of you.”

“Uh, sure thing.” Lucio wraps the cord around his phone to keep it from tangling and pockets it. “What’s your father got to do with anything?”

“I suppose I do owe you that,” Genji admits, shrugging. “My father is a very powerful businessman. He has had a great deal of luck in his pursuits, but smaller businesses in this area have not been able to compete with him, and it has made many angry.” Lucio frowns and occupies himself with a mouthful of noodles. That doesn’t really tell him what kind of business would drive anyone to violence, or how anyone would recognize his son in the first place. But Genji doesn’t look like he wants to talk about it, eyes watching Lucio’s movement carefully and teeth worrying at his bottom lip, so Lucio doesn’t pursue it. It’s certainly none of his business.

He’s probably already intruded enough, he realizes, sitting in a stranger’s apartment at an ungodly hour of the morning eating soup. He gulps down water to wash away the sudden awkwardness jittering in his muscles. His host, on the other hand, seems to settle and relax when Lucio doesn’t ask any follow-up questions. “Are you staying in Japan for long?”

Lucio shakes his head. “Taking the next few days off for some R and R—uh, rest and relaxation,” he amends at Genji’s confused look, and then continues, “My next gig is back home in Brazil, I fly out early Thursday.”

“Brazil.”Genji breathes the word thoughtfully, his eyes shining with whatever pictures his imagination conjures for him. “That is far.”

“Yeah, I don’t usually travel this far for a gig, but the pay was good.” He grins. “I tell myself it’s a good sign, that clubs all the way out here want to have me, you know?”

“When you are big and famous, you should return here as the main event, instead of opening,” Genji teases, kicking at Lucio’s leg under the table. “Look, drink the broth. Like this.” He lifts his bowl to his lips and slurps broth.

Lucio snorts in spite of himself, which dislodges his gauze. “Ah,” he starts, one hand flying up to cup under his nose. His elbow knocks into his bowl, and it tips. “Oh, shit!” The bowl hits linoleum with a crack and a splash of ramen. He jumps to his feet, soup soaking into his pants.

Genji scrambles for cleaning supplies. Lucio kneels, picking carefully around pooling broth and shattered porcelain, and kneels to gather shards. “Here.” Genji sets a small trash can next to him. “Do not worry, it is fine.”

“I’m so sorry, man,” Lucio mutters, dumping his handful of porcelain into the can. Genji looks up at him to answer and freezes. A voice thick with sleep speaking Japanese over Lucio’s shoulder makes him start and twist around.

A man in some sort of loose sleepwear stands in the doorway peering down at him, the confused set of his lips and furrowed brow sharp and fierce. Lucio doesn’t think anyone should be able to look so intimidating while wearing pajamas and sporting extreme bedhead, but this man proves him wrong. “Hanzo,” Genji says behind him, voice tight, “Uh. This is Lucio.” The dark eyes pinning Lucio in place sweep over to Genji, and he replies in Japanese. Genji huffs in frustration, switching out of English to respond in turn. Hanzo’s presence and Genji’s immediate reaction settle oppressive and suffocating over the room, like being buried alive.

“You must leave,” Hanzo tells Lucio, frost in his voice. Genji says something else in Japanese, but Hanzo ignores him. Lucio glances at him; he looks stiff, keeping a carefully maintained blank face in front of his brother. Genji catches his glance and looks abashed.

“He saved me,” Genji says, suddenly in English for Lucio’s benefit. “I was attacked, and Lucio stepped in. His nose was broken. I owe him.”

Hanzo’s glower deepens, his weight shifting on his feet. “I will take care of this. Help him clean up.”

Genji wastes no time escaping Hanzo’s presence, taking Lucio back to the same bathroom so he could wash broth off his hands, then disappearing down the hallway. Twice now cleaning up his own mess in this bathroom, thanks to a man he really didn’t know. Surreal. A few stray flecks of blood have seeped out of his nose, and as he wipes them away he wonders if he should go to the hospital.

Genji returns with a pair of sweatpants, which are too big, but he rolls up the cuffs and tightens the elastic waistband to make it work. “I apologize for my brother’s rudeness,” he says as Lucio turns away to change his pants, “He thinks I am too trusting and reckless.”

Lucio only shrugs and tells him not to sweat it, because he can maybe see Hanzo’s point, but he just can’t bring himself to fault Genji for letting him in at odd hours of the morning, tending his injury, cooking for him. And, perhaps, the same could be said of him for following ingenuously along.

He assesses the sorry condition of his clothes, which he bundles together. First his hoodie, now his pants. “I’ve got to get away from you before any more of my clothes get ruined,” he tells Genji as they make their way back to the kitchen, earning him a snort and a chuckle. Hanzo swivels a steady glare at them as they enter, effectively killing Genji’s laughter. Palpable discomfort. He’s certainly overstayed his welcome, he probably never belonged here in the first place. Had he walked into a whole different world without noticing it?

Lucio cracks a smile at Genji, hoping it’s a reassuring look, and tucks his dirtied clothes under his arm. “All right, well uh. Thanks for the ramen and all that. It’s been fun.” He nods at Hanzo, who just keeps watching him, and waves to Genji. He heads to the door and shoves his feet into his shoes, the tongue of one getting bunched up near his toes and the laces of the other dragging, but he doesn’t stop to fix them in his hurry to get out the door.

“Lucio! Wait!” Genji’s voice chases him into the hallway. He pauses and half-turns. If the brother follows him out too, he wants to be ready to get out fast. He gives Lucio the creeps, and he clearly doesn’t want Lucio around. “I am sorry about… everything. I want to see you again.” He glances over his shoulder at the front door; Lucio isn’t the only one worried about Hanzo interrupting them a second time. “Will you meet me tomorrow at two pm, where we met? Please?” Brows lift and knit together, lips draw in a cautious smile. He leans closer, just slightly. Begging, desperate. Lucio recognizes it suddenly as the look Genji gave him outside the club trying to get in, when he offered to buy him a drink, when he defended him to his brother. Too trusting. Lonely.

Lucio takes a chance, rising up on his toes to make up for some of the difference in their height. With one hand on Genji’s right shoulder for balance, he plants a quick firm kiss on his left cheek. Genji blinks rapidly a couple times, the edge of uncertainty smoothing out of his face. “Okay,” Lucio promises, “I’ll see you then.”

As he walks down the hall toward the elevator, sensing Genji watch his retreating back, the feeling that he’s gotten himself into something he won’t so easily get out of nags at him. His nose aches. He reminds himself, digging out his phone to turn music back on, he’ll be back in Rio de Janeiro by the end of the week.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lucio "What Could Possibly Go Wrong" Correia dos Santos
> 
> This started as a oneshot gdi...  
> Come chat with me on [tumblr](http://www.geckosncats.tumblr.com/) if you want! Thanks for reading!


	2. Chapter 2

Lucio wakes up at 1:30. A steady painful rhythm beats from the bridge of his nose. He stares blearily at the time on his phone for a second, and then suddenly he remembers. “Fuck,” he moans, kicking sheets off his legs. He’d fallen straight into bed when he returned, but now the griminess and smell clinging to his skin can’t be ignored. He stumbles into the shower and, despite running late, makes sure to scrub himself thoroughly.

Steam clouds the mirror when he steps back out. He swipes his hand across the glass and frowns at his reflection. The swelling has subsided, but the bruise has settled beneath his skin, splotching shades of red, purple, and green over his nose and under his eyes. He sighs, lamenting his face, and gets dressed. The seasons are backwards and far more prominent here in Japan than he’s used to, every day getting warmer as summer crept in. And wetter, Lucio had no idea how it could rain so much. He’s pretty sure he hasn’t seen the street completely dry since he arrived. So he puts on slim-fitting workout pants and a light jacket over his t-shirt, mourning his warm hoodie.

In ten minutes he brushes his teeth, takes a shot of testosterone for his hormone therapy, swallows painkillers for his nose, and flies out to catch the next bus. He should have set an alarm, Genji might be long gone by the time he gets there, tired of waiting. He’d looked forward to picking a local’s brain for the best places to eat and hang out, and Genji’s company was certainly a bonus.

Once he gets off the bus he breaks into a run to the club, which is little more than a low grimy building, unimpressive and unappealing in the light of day. He arrives at 2:17 and finds Genji scuffing his shoes at the sidewalk aimlessly. “Genji! Ah man, I’m sorry I’m late,” he gasps as he slows to a stop in front of him. “I slept in.”

Relief flows over Genji’s face at the sight of him, the weight of tension lifting from his shoulders. “I was just beginning to think you would not come.”

“Yeah, sorry.” Lucio catches his breath and smiles to underline his apology. “Just had a crazy night, you know.” Questions about last night, what his brother had said, if he’d been okay after he left, dance on the tip of his tongue, but he swallows them down.

Genji acts no worse for the wear, all kind smiles and sparkling eyes, just as he’d been when they met. “I think I know what you mean,” he answers lightly, but doesn’t take Lucio’s bait and offer any answers. “Do you need some coffee?”

He definitely needs coffee, and something to eat while they’re at it. They don’t have to go far to find a nearby café with yellow lights and soft white booths, where Lucio gets an espresso and a muffin. The barista knows enough English from the menu to understand that much, and Genji helps bridge the gaps in their brief transaction. Lucio claims one of the small tables while Genji makes his own order.

“Do you have any plans for your time here?” he asks when he sits down across from Lucio.

Lucio shrugs. “Not really, I wanted to keep it open, just wait and see what I found.”

Genji nods and removes the lid from his coffee cup, blowing at the steam that rises in a waft. “Kyoto is not as modern as Tokyo, but there are many temples and shrines nearby.” Lucio takes a drink from his own coffee as Genji averts his gaze, considering. “Up in the hills is the Hanamura district. It’s where I grew up, it’s very scenic. There is even a castle up there.”

Lucio’s eyebrows rise toward his hairline. “Oh yeah? That could be fun. Sightseeing your own home wouldn’t be boring for you?”

“It has been a long time since I was there. Anyway, it will be fun with you.” He hides a faint blush behind a long drink of coffee, then laughs away his embarrassment. “I’ve never been a tour guide before.”

Lucio snorts and tears a hunk off his muffin. They sit in silence for a few moments, but Lucio has never been good with silence, and his mouth takes over before any filters in his head can catch up. “Why do you live with your brother?” Genji blinks at him, surprised, and Lucio tries to smooth over his outburst with a shrug. “I mean, he doesn’t… It didn’t seem like you get along that well last night. He’s kind of…”

“A dick?” Genji’s lips twist in a smirk.

Lucio chuckles anxiously. “I was gonna say standoffish.”

Genji steals a bit of muffin, buying himself time by eating it before responding, “He is not as bad as he seems. He asked me to move in with him, he does not want to admit he gets lonely.” He shrugs. “He has changed a lot since our father promoted him a few months ago. He wants me to join the company too, I think Father is telling him to convince me.” He doesn’t look at Lucio, staring down his coffee instead, and Lucio wonders if he has anyone else to talk to about this. “I am 31 years old and have no idea what I want to do with my life, Lucio. All I know is that I want nothing to do with my father’s business.”

He looks up at Lucio, eyes big and raw like an exposed nerve. “I want to be like you, Lucio. You have so much… passion for what you do, for helping people. Making people happy. It is incredible.”

“Hell, dude,” is all Lucio manages to choke out, trying to sound casual. Crawling a hand over the table, he wraps his fingers around Genji’s and gives him a squeeze. He looks startled but squeezes back. Mutual silence curls around them, drawing them closer together, until eventually Lucio clears his throat and shakes his head. “Look, I can’t… tell you what to do with your life, Genji. Nobody can. But there’s no time limit on figuring things out. What matters is you’re thinking about it, right? You’re trying. That’s the most anyone can do, really.”

His words feel short and inadequate, but they make Genji smile a little anyway. “Thank you. It’s still overwhelming, but that helps.”

Lucio shrugs. “I mean, maybe you should just start with… what matters to you, y’know? You said I help people, make people happy. Are those the kinds of things you want to do, and how could you do it?” He takes a deep breath. “It’s a marathon, not a race, right? It’s okay if it takes you a while to find what you want to do with your life, and to make it work.”

“Lucio,” Genji says, with a depth of feeling that Lucio has never heard injected into his name, and it nearly makes him shiver, “You are one of the kindest people I have ever met. Thank you so much for listening to me, for offering your advice.”

“Yeah.” Lucio swallows a mouthful of coffee, nearly choking on it when he finds his throat too tight. “No problem.”

Genji clears his throat, polishes off his coffee, and perks up. “Anyway, ready to get going?” Eager to sweep past the topic, occupy them both with other things. Lucio shoves the last of his breakfast into his mouth and nods, taking his coffee along with him when they hit the street again. At some point during their coffee, rain had begun to fall; Genji laughs and says it’s “only a drizzle,” fishing a compact umbrella from his coat pocket, popping it open. The train stop is two blocks down, and they ride the east line to the other end of the city, winding gradually upward.

Inner Kyoto is as much a modern city as any other beneath its traditional Japanese aesthetic, but there’s something different about Hanamura, tucked away amongst the hills as it is. The appearance of the buildings and the streets is much the same, if smaller, but the air tastes crisp and clean in Lucio’s lungs, pungent from the rain. Stepping off the train and into the street gives him a settled, happy feeling, something welcoming and cozy in the district’s seclusion. Cherry trees pepper the sidewalk at random intervals, and their lush green leaves dangle over the narrow cobbled streets, bobbing under the rain. This high up in the hills, Fuji looms stark and close, framed by the sweep of pagoda roofs.

“Wow,” Lucio mutters, huddling closer to Genji under the umbrella as soon as he reopens it. “You weren’t kidding about it being scenic.” Genji puffs with pride and surveys the street, taking stock of an old stomping ground. “You said there was a castle?” Lucio prods.

“Ah, yes! This way.” The gentle slope of the hill rises under their feet as they go, the street narrowing the further it climbs from the center of town. Upon Lucio’s insistence, Genji points out his old haunts as they go – the arcade where he spent far too many late nights in his high school years, the convenience store where he kept a part-time job for all of seven months, the road he would bike down too fast just to feel like he was escaping something.

The castle balances on the edge of town, encircled by a wall of dirty white stone and aged wood beams. Genji and Lucio pass through massive doors like sentries, towering over them, casting judgment and granting them entrance. Everything outside melts away behind them as they cross the courtyard, every step carrying them further out of sync with the modern world. It is still and serene. Preserved in time. How many hundreds of years has it stood here, protected by some unseen force against a rival king’s armies and Allied bombs alike?

Genji pays for both their admissions at a waist-high ticket stand next to the door of the main keep. Lucio swipes a pamphlet from a display on the stand, despite Genji’s protests that it would be more fun to explore without it. “I won’t use it if you prove you’re a good tour guide,” he teases, though he folds the pamphlet in half and tucks it in his back pocket.

“I have not been here since I was a teenager,” Genji says, and then he dons a ferocious grin, squaring his shoulders. “And I will still be the best tour guide this castle has ever seen.”

Laughter bubbles in Lucio’s throat, stifling it into a quiet snicker to preserve the hushed atmosphere of solemnity that thickens the air. He doesn’t want to be disrespectful. “All right, Mr. Tour Guide. Show me what you got. How old is this place?”

Genji purses his lips in thought and leads deeper inside. “It is about four hundred years old, built near the beginning of the Edo period,” he explains, tilting his chin, self-satisfaction in the twist of his lips. “The whole castle complex used to be much bigger, but most of it was destroyed during World War II.”

Dark wood covers the floor and walls, the whole level a single open room. It’s spartan, empty. Their soft footfalls echo faintly in Lucio’s ears. He had expected replica furniture, an attempt at duplicating how it might have been viewed by its inhabitants hundreds of years ago, but this yawning space is more real. Lucio sweeps his eyes around and almost imagines a flicker of movement, ghosts unconcerned or unaware that their grand military fortress is now gutted of any practical application, the domain of tourists and history buffs.

They circle the room slowly toward the steep stairway, Genji temporarily silent as the floor murmurs under their feet and the keep settles around them. The second story is more like what Lucio expected, populated with furniture and plaques offering information about various features and structures of the building. “The lord of the province and his top men lived here in and around the main keep. They were built mainly for defense against intruders, but that was pretty obsolete once Japan unified,” Genji shares, feeding Lucio more such tidbits as they explore further up into the tower, running into a few other visitors as they go but too occupied with each other to pay much mind. Each floor is a little smaller than the last, and when they reach the top story Lucio can’t imagine it’s more than half the size of the ground floor. It opens up to the view with large windows on three sides, a coin-operated telescope installed to overlook the city.

Lucio whistles low and leans out the window. “Be careful,” Genji laughs next to him as he sucks rain-heavy air in his lungs, looking out over the city that stretches to the horizon, damp, crawling with the lives of over a million people. He feels the Japanese atmosphere permeate into his lungs, settling deep into his person like the seed of a memory, and breathes out again.

“C’mere.” He turns around, his back to the view, and pulls his phone out of his pocket, “I want a picture.” Genji shuffles to his side, bending a bit closer and balancing himself with one hand on the wood windowsill. Lucio can feel one of his knuckles behind his back. He lifts his phone at arm’s length and shifts closer to fit into frame better, Genji’s breath tickling his ear.

Genji grins wide and dazzling into the camera, tilting his head to press one cheek against Lucio’s temple. Lucio snaps the picture and checks it, Genji hovering over his shoulder. “If my hair looks bad we have to retake it,” he insists, but fortunately his hair looks fine, and he allows the picture to remain on Lucio’s phone. They linger for a while longer, letting the landscape imprint itself into their minds before working their way down the stairs back to the main floor. 

They find a corridor branching away from the main keep that leads them into a smaller building nestled against the edges of a large garden. A mural dominates the far wall in the central room, golden clouds crowning snowy mountain peaks. Serpentine dragons writhe around each other, blue and green, baring teeth and talons at each other.

“I think these were domestic quarters for the women and children,” Genji says as Lucio approaches the mural, stopping just shy of being in range to touch it. “That’s a replica, the original mural was destroyed long ago.”

He twists around to look at Genji over his shoulder. “How do you know so much about this place?”

“I am descended from the family that ruled here,” Genji says with a shrug, and Lucio laughs until he sees Genji’s raised eyebrows.

“Wait, you’re serious?” 

Genji chuckles and closes the distance between them to stand at Lucio’s side. “It is not as exciting as it sounds, really.” He eyes the mural thoughtfully, a soft smile playing at his lips. “Our father thought it was, though. He brought Hanzo and I here a few times, when we were younger. He told us stories about the two dragons, that they have guarded our family for generations, that they watch over us even now. He was a wonderful storyteller.”

Lucio’s gaze follows the dragon’s coils, twisting together, entangling themselves in each other even as they snarl and flash their claws. Bound together for eternity. “So you’re kinda like a long lost prince or something.” Genji snickers.

“Maybe I am,” he answers, breaking into an impish grin. “Maybe you should treat me with more respect, or I will have you beheaded.” He stacks his fists together and swings them toward Lucio, miming swinging a sword. Lucio snorts and leans sideways to jab his elbow at Genji’s ribs. He barely makes contact, but Genji squirms away and erupts in snickering. “Do not elbow your prince!”

His reaction to such a light touch can only mean one thing: ticklish. Lucio can’t believe his good luck in discovering such a weakness. “I’ll do whatever the hell I want to with my prince,” he retorts, turning his full attention to assault. He grabs a fistful of coat for leverage and uses his other hand to dig into Genji’s side. The strangled cry Genji makes is far, far from dignified.

The sound of footsteps down the corridor makes Lucio reel back, Genji still trying to catch his breath when a tour group filters in. The woman in lead, a tour guide, stops short and stares at them like they’re desecrating the place. Lucio sucks his lower lip between his teeth in a failing attempt to stifle his giggling, grabbing Genji and dragging him out through the garden door. They manage to keep it together for a whole ten seconds to escape into the garden of maples and cherry trees, and then Genji dissolves back into a mess, folded over himself, clutching at his knees to keep himself balanced.

“Oh my god,” Lucio gasps out between hysterics, clutching Genji’s shoulder, drizzle tingling cold on his flushed skin, “Oh my god!”

Genji manages to straighten himself up some, his eyes teary and scrunched up, his grin too big for his face. Lucio’s heart suddenly jumps into his throat, smothering his laughter.

“You are crazy,” Genji huffs, rubbing one knuckle against his eye. He retrieves his umbrella and unfurls it while Lucio looks around, diverting his attention to their surroundings.

The garden path of roughly cut stepping stones winds over the swells and dips in the landscape and cuts across a shallow pond. A small building peeks out behind the heavy branches of a Japanese oak. The rain mutes the green and red shades of foliage and softens the edges of massive decorative stones. There isn’t another living soul out here; he doesn’t even hear any birds. “Come on, let’s go this way.” Lucio gestures toward the path. “Tell me one of your dad’s stories, about the dragons.”

So Genji carries the umbrella over their heads and tells him about the dragon brothers who argued and fought until one of them finally fell at the claws of the other. The weakened dragon retreated into a human form, and once he had he saw the destruction their fight had wrought on the land. “He lost his strength and power, but his new lower position allowed him to see more clearly, to empathize with the humans who had always lived far below him. He realized he had to do something about it, to fix the damage he’d done.”

Lucio hums when Genji pauses as they reach the pond. “That musta been lonely,” he considers, stepping onto one of the chiseled flat stones that make up a bridge across the water. He chooses his footsteps carefully, wary of slipping on the wet rock.

Genji tilts his head to look down at him. “Yes, I imagine it was,” he says after a moment. “He struggled with what his brother had done to him, to both of them, but in the end he knew he could not stay angry and bitter. They had both played parts in the destruction. Eventually he confronted his brother, whose solitude and guilt were causing further trouble to the land below. He convinced his brother to humble himself to become human, and then revealed himself as the brother he thought he’d lost. Together, they could fix the land they had destroyed, and make amends for their past.” He kicks a pebble off the stone bridge and watches it sink to the bottom of the pond, then chuckles. “Hanzo always hated that story. I do not know why.”

Lucio doesn’t respond, though he wonders which dragon is supposed to be which brother. Maybe in the end it doesn’t really matter. “What’s this?” he asks instead, switching topics with a gesture toward the structure he’d seen earlier, now in clear sight as they pass the oak and it comes into full view. Small trees and shrubs line the pathway, guiding their approach. It’s a small building of wood and plaster, itself a part of the landscaping, not meant to be imposing like the rest of the castle.

“A tea house.” Genji collapses his umbrella, and they step into a small waiting room where a young man greets them. They remove their shoes, and the man leads them into the tea room, providing a rehearsed explanation of the structure and etiquette of traditional tea ceremonies, every action of host and guests alike laced with purpose and meaning. From start to finish, a full ceremony could take up to four hours, so for the sake of visitors’ convenience the castle employee forsakes most of the rituals, cutting straight to brewing green tea over the small hearth in the center of the room.

“Have you had green tea before?” he asks Lucio, the clear outsider here, who shakes his head.

“Never drank much tea at all, to be honest,” he admits, and the host nods and begins questioning him about where he’s from, why he is in Japan, how he is enjoying his visit to the castle. His English isn’t quite as good as Genji’s, not as polished, but they make congenial small talk without any problems as he prepares steaming bowls of tea one at a time. He repeats Genji’s expression of thanks, and the host gives him a gracious smile even though he definitely butchered the pronunciation.

Lucio discovers he doesn’t like green tea, trying to smooth over the face he makes, but Genji takes notice judging by the snort of stifled laughter he makes into his own drink. The host glances a puzzled expression between them but says nothing. With no idea what else he’s supposed to do and loathe to risk offending the nice host trying to do his job, Lucio keeps sipping at the tea and manages to swallow down the whole bowl, burning and bitter on his tongue.

They don’t stay much longer than that, their host gathering up the used utensils to clean them. Lucio thanks him again, in English, as they make their way out. He smiles and bows in the doorway, watching them retreat the way they had come. “Seems like we’ve pretty much seen everything,” Lucio notes. The rain has let up for now, leaving everything damp and glistening but still, the garden soaking in the feast of water gluttonously.

On impulse, Lucio abandons the path to duck underneath the big oak tree, dew dripping onto his head and shoulders when he disturbs the leaves. It’s a half-hidden little alcove, the branches sinking heavily toward the earth and shielding the trunk from the rest of the world. He wonders how old it is, how long it has watched the castle shift and change to better accommodate the tourist trade, to become more efficient at drawing in money?

Genji brushes branches out of the way to join him under the tree. “Something catch your eye under here?” He raises his eyebrows in question.

“Something like that,” he answers, leaning back against the trunk and grinning. Genji settles next to him, his shoulder against the bark. “It’s actually dry under here.” That elicits a laugh from Genji, and he leans forward a little.

The lean is the only warning Lucio gets before he’s surging forward all at once, cupping one hand around the back of Lucio’s head, pressing their lips together. He’s still smiling too much, and Lucio jerks back reflexively when his lip gets pinched between their teeth. Lucio can feel him begin to recoil, and he slides his fingers along Genji’s jaw to hold him steady before he can withdraw too far. Genji’s whole being moves in response when Lucio kisses him, melting close, hands hovering over Lucio’s waist like he doesn’t know what to do with them. He settles for hugging his arms tight around Lucio, high enough to pin his own arms in place.

Lucio is tender and chaste, lingering until giddiness flutters up from his stomach and a grin breaks against Genji’s lips in spite of Lucio’s best efforts at self-control. Genji snorts and tilts his head in a way that separates their lips but brings their foreheads together.

Later, he can worry about consequences and implications, fret about long distances and other commitments and sheer practicality, about only knowing the man for less than 24 hours—and has it really been less than 24 hours since he’d been told ancient tales of dragons, since he’d offered comfort after insecure confessions over coffee? Right now, they are bubbled, the old oak shielding them from the inevitable turn of time and a world where people are expected not to get carried away by single moments and soft teasing smiles and endearingly outrageous dyed hair.

“Come on,” he says finally, squirming to loosen Genji’s embrace and take a step back. He captures Genji’s hand, and they stay attached back out through the garden, following the path that circles around the keep to the courtyard and the front gate where they’d entered. They’re silent for most of the walk, at ease and complacent with the current state of things; nothing needs to be said, anything said might only break the façade of simplicity. Lucio would like to maintain the guise that this doesn’t need to become complicated, that their enthusiasm will be enough to keep them afloat, for as long as possible.

Returning to Hanamura proper after being so immersed in the castle’s ancient ambience makes Lucio’s head reel a little, suddenly reminded of the real world of cars and electricity. Genji announces he’s hungry, and they ramble through the labyrinthine streets to find a fast food chain so Lucio can determine for him whether it tastes the same as it does back home. He confirms that yes, fast food burgers and greasy fries indeed are strikingly similar between Brazil and Japan, which delights Genji to no end.

They meander through Hanamura a little longer before eventually returning to the train stop, knowing there is only one direction for them to go and having killed as much time as they could without admitting to themselves that was what they’d been doing. On the train ride back downtown, Lucio takes a deep breath and faces the unavoidable. “I’m leaving Thursday,” he says, a reminder, trying to come across nonchalant.

A soft sigh leaks out of Genji’s mouth, and he stubbornly keeps his gaze directed out the window instead of at Lucio. “I know.”

Lucio chews on the inside of his cheek and craves a cigarette. He draws out his phone, opens a new contact, and pushes it toward Genji, hovering it in his field of vision. “I don’t have your number.” That draws Genji out of his sulking, and he takes the phone, staring at the name field Lucio has already filled in – the name “Genji” followed by not one but two heart emojis – before tapping in a series of digits.

“You’re really cool, man,” Lucio says as he takes back his phone, hitting “save.” “I… want to stay in touch, after. If you do.”

Genji manages to pull his lips into a halfhearted smile. “I do.”

Lucio nods, encouraged by the affirmation, pushing on. “I mean, I’ve never done long distance before, but I think it’s worth a try, right?”

“Right.” Genji reaches for his hand and squeezes it, a reassuring gesture for both of them. “Yes. I would like that.”

“In the meantime, we’ve still got three more days. We’ll just have to make ‘em count.” Lucio grins, determined to drag a better mood out of Genji.

The ploy works, Genji’s smile steadying and reaching his eyes. “Yes, we will. I already have a few ideas.” 

Lucio snorts out a chuckle and sends Genji a text to share his own number, shoulders relaxing and leaning toward Genji. This is more comfortable, hard ground back under their feet, even if the way ahead is dark and imposing. Genji is solid and warm next to him, facing new territory together. It may not be much, but it’s something. He slings his arm over the back of Lucio’s seat, and Lucio smiles. “What kind of ideas are those, exactly?”

“That is a surprise,” Genji teases smugly. Lucio complains and threatens to tickle him again, the train pulling into their stop saving him from such torment.

As they step off the train, discussing options for their next activity, Genji’s pocket begins to buzz, and he pulls out his phone with a frown. “It’s my brother,” he says, an apology in his tone, and answers it. Lucio waits patiently, relieved he doesn’t have to pretend not to eavesdrop since he can’t understand a word Genji says anyway. His voice grows petulant after a moment, then pleading, and finally sighs in resignation.

He hangs up. “I have to go.” His brows furrow over his eyes. “I am sorry, it is… family business.” Lucio nods and doesn’t press for more details. “I will text you as soon as I can.”

“Yeah. You can make it up to me tomorrow.” Genji smiles at Lucio’s attempt at a light mood and leans forward to kiss his forehead.

“First thing,” he agrees, turning to depart down the street. Lucio waves, watching his back hunch and disappear around the corner before he heads in the direction of his hotel alone. Whatever family business called Genji away on such short notice, he imagines he’ll probably hear more about it tomorrow. He’ll just have to wait the few dull hours to see him again.

His hotel room is quiet and empty when he returns, but he doesn’t notice, his head too loud and full. He collapses onto his bed and stares up at the ceiling, trying to sort through feelings and fears. There is no chance all this had happened in a day, yet here he is, dizzy with the whirlwind of sheer happenstance that had thrown them together. Closing his eyes, he takes a deep breath and tries to settle his buzzing mind. Too fast, too sudden, something needs to slow down and he isn’t sure he knows how to press the brakes.

A little over an hour later, his phone blinks and beeps with a new notification. Two new texts from Genji.

“sry abt earlyer  
bfast tmrw?”

Lucio taps out an affirmative reply, they arrange a place to meet, and he wishes Genji a good night. The response he receives is a series of emojis that make him hide his eyes in his hand, blushing and snickering with no one else in the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hahahahaha if only it was ending here while they're happy am I right hahahaha


	3. Chapter 3

“Why a frog?”

Lucio looks up from his eggs to blink in bemusement at Genji. “What?”

Genji gestures toward his shoulder, where the frog’s silhouetted legs dangle out from beneath the sleeve of his t-shirt. “Your tattoo. Why did you choose a frog?” 

He shrugs. “I’ve always loved frogs. As a kid I was always fascinated by the way they changed, and their bright colors.” He tugs on his neon blue shirt with a grin. “Guess we got a lot in common fashion-wise. Anyway, they remind me that life is never static, that change is always possible.” The words sound ridiculous coming out of his mouth, ideas he’s grown up living by suddenly becoming infantile. “I mean, frogs aren’t quite as impressive as having dragons run in the family, but they mean something to me at least.”

“No, I like it.” Genji’s smile colors his tone with an affectionate warmth. “I never thought about them like that. Frogs really are amazing.”

“Right?” Lucio laughs. He returns to his eggs, picking up his fork. Picking up where they’d left off had been almost too easy, nothing but tight embraces and warm smiles. They don’t talk about Genji’s sudden disappearance the day before, or the ever-shrinking window of time they have left together, or what is going to come after that. Breakfast is for light food and light conversation. “You got any tattoos?”

Genji nods, chewing a mouthful of natto before answering. “My father thought 18 was still too young to get a tattoo, so I got it on my back, where he couldn’t see.” He grins, mischievous, and Lucio can practically see the teenaged Genji peeking through it. He tries to imagine Genji with the energy and poor impulse control of youth, and feels a little sorry for his father.

“My brother and I got matching ones of our family’s dragons, our way of honoring the tradition when we were younger I guess,” he continues, “Now it seems more like our own thing than the whole family’s. Connects us to each other. Does that make sense?”

Tangled up in each other, no matter what. Lucio nods; he doesn’t have siblings, but he thinks he’s starting to get it.

“I’d love to see it sometime. Your ink, I mean,” he says, and it has nothing at all to do with the way his shirt sleeves never seem to fit properly around his arms. Genji shoots him a lopsided smile, as if he knows. Lucio clears his throat. “Your dad always such a stick in the mud?”

Lucio can’t tell if Genji pauses to consider how to answer or puzzle over the unfamiliar saying, but after a moment he shrugs and says, “He’s not so bad. He is very protective sometimes, but he’s a good father. He loves us dearly.” He drains the last of his tea. “What about your parents? Tell me about them.”

Conversation winds from family to personal tastes in food and colors until they finish eating, and Genji insists on taking care of the check. “My treat, for needing to leave early yesterday.”

Lucio snorts but doesn’t argue, vowing to himself to pay next time they share a meal. He’s not about to make a habit of letting Genji have this many victories over him, no matter how loaded his family is. “I’ll meet you outside, then. I need a smoke.” Lucio heads outside while Genji calculates the tip on his fingers. He wanders a short distance from the front door of the diner, lighting a cigarette.

Any serious or far-sighted subject Genji deflects immediately, twisting it back to something more light-hearted with an ease Lucio can’t help but feel is practiced. He has seen glimpses of Genji’s personal life, flickering little details at the corner of his eye, but not enough to fill in a whole picture. The man is hellbent on being a good-humored enigma.

The late morning sun filters through a thin layer of clouds, pale and soft. He blinks up at the sky; it promises to be a lovely day, no rain, breezy and just warm enough. Whatever Genji may have planned for him after this, he hopes they get to spend some time outside. He sighs and idly watches people pass him by.

Genji had kissed his cheek when they greeted each other, lingered close over him before he straightened up and backed away. They flirt, fluttering and dancing around each other without ever making contact or meeting in the middle. The ghost of their kiss still hovers at the edges of his memory, always present, but now he realizes their conversation after was empty and weightless, nothing gained or assured, unconcluded thanks to the abrupt end of the evening. What does Genji expect of him now? Can Lucio even handle a relationship with his life the mess it currently is, much less one that’s going to be gaping open by nearly twenty thousand kilometers?

A car slides up to the side of the road next to him, making him jump back a couple steps. A tall wiry man climbs out of the backseat and steps in front of Lucio. “Good morning,” he says, voice slick as oil, “Mind if we have a quick chat?” He grips Lucio’s shoulder, deceptively casual and friendly. Lucio darts his gaze back to the restaurant a few buildings down, searching for Genji, but he doesn’t swoop in for him, not in time.

The hand on his shoulder is pressing him toward the car. His head is reeling. Where is Genji? He wants to call out, dart away, but his voice has died in his throat. Panic and confusion coiling in his gut, he lets himself get herded into the car. The hand not on him plucks his cigarette from his fingers and flicks it to the concrete.

His backend hits the leather seat, the stranger crowding in next to him. He loses his balance and nearly falls onto his side when the car swerves back into the street. Hard to escape out the other side when it’s moving.

Lucio chews the inside of his cheek as the man in the passenger seat says something in Japanese without turning around, and when he finishes the one at Lucio’s side speaks to him. A translator. “You seem to be very close with young Shimada. He trusts you quite a bit.”

The taste of bile burns in his throat, and his chest grows cold. Lucio swallows and starts, “Listen man, I’m only here for a couple more days—“

He’s cut off with a flick of the man’s wrist. “We know you would not want to see him hurt. You can help us make sure that doesn’t happen.” His gaze finally cuts over to Lucio, piercing, staring down his nose at him. “Make him behave himself.”

“Huh?” The dumb response flies out of his mouth before he can stop it, brow knitting in confusion.

“Keep him in check. Make sure he keeps a lower profile.” He arches his eyebrows imperiously as he looks down at Lucio’s bruised nose. “You were involved in his incident the other night, correct? You have seen firsthand that his recklessness can endanger not only himself, but those around him. He is becoming a liability to the Mamushi-gumi, and we’re getting concerned that he is trying to cause trouble.”

Dizziness floods over Lucio’s senses, threatening to crush him. Mamushi-gumi, whatever the hell that means. Liabilities. Big men crowding him into a car like something out of an old gangster movie.

“I…” he starts, but his voice fails him. His mind buzzes in circles, going too fast but getting him nowhere. Too much. He has nothing to say, but he has to say something.

The plucky notes of a chiptune song interrupt him, and the man frowns as Lucio fumbles his phone from his pocket. Genji. “Answer it.”

He doesn’t want to, but it doesn’t seem like he has much choice. He flicks the Answer icon. Immediately, Genji chatters in his ear. “Where did you go? I am just outside, I do not see you.” The inside of the car is suddenly, suffocatingly still. Lucio wishes he could beg Genji to help him. “I did not scare you away, did I? I promise I do not bite.”

“Yeah, sorry.” He can feel eyes on all sides of him, watching, waiting for something to pounce on. “Uh, something came up, I had to… go. Uh. Back to my hotel.”

“Oh. All right.” Genji sounds cautious now, hurt that Lucio hadn’t played along. The tension jittering in Lucio’s nerves make him want to punch him for not understanding his distress, as impossible as that would be. Too much, it’s all too much. “That is fair, I suppose. Is there… something I can do?” As he speaks, the car pulls to the curb and comes to a halt.

“Nah. Nope. It’s fine. Shouldn’t take long, I’ll text you. See you soon.” He ends the call before Genji can drag it out further. 

The man opens the door, climbs out, and smiles cheerily at Lucio as he follows suit out of the car. For a second, Lucio could forget that he effectively kidnapped him and extorted him into doing their bidding. “Thank you,” he says, and sounds genuine, almost relieved, “This is for Shimada’s own good.” He and the car disappear as quickly as they’d materialized, leaving Lucio frozen and disoriented.

The men have dropped him off just a couple blocks from his hotel, which makes him think twice about going back; they know where he is staying. But all his stuff is there, what else can he do? So he returns to his hotel room, which is at least somewhere private he can perch on the bed, hunch over his phone, and open the Internet browser. He hates to disappear on Genji, but he’s not sure he can face him again, not yet. He needs to clear his thoughts. He can feel something hanging over his head like a guillotine, threatening to come crashing down with the wrong move. _Mamushi-gumi._

He stares at the first page of results, mouth dry. Repeated across the screen, over and over, the word “yakuza” stares back at him.

He clicks on the first article, scrolling without absorbing much information. Blinded by yakuza, yakuza, yakuza. Goes back to the results page, skims headers and titles. Drug trafficking. Racketeering. Territory squabbles between gangs. Movements becoming more subtle as the police struggle for control over yakuza activity.

The Mamushi-gumi panicking under the past few years’ constricting authority, clinging to every scrap of manpower they could and doling out fierce punishment for those who tried to break out of their influence.

Lucio stares at the coiled viper, the gang’s insignia, and thinks of long serpentine dragons.

His phone jumps and starts ringing in his hands, startling him. Panicked, his heart pounds in his throat. He hovers his fingertip over the Ignore button, but then hits Answer. “Genji,” he says in greeting.

“Lucio? Is everything okay?” Genji really sounds concerned now. “I’m going to come find you.”

Lucio bites his lower lip. “I… yeah, okay. I think we should talk. In my hotel.” He gives Genji the address and sits on the edge of the bed to wait, staring at his folded hands, keeping his breathing even. Don’t panic, don’t panic. A misunderstanding maybe, maybe he misheard. He must have misheard.

Genji’s there in no time at all, not enough time for Lucio to find a way out of the endless spiral of his thoughts. He looks as lost as Lucio feels, shoulders hunched and brow hanging low over his eyes. He tips forward when the door opens, like he’s going to touch Lucio and then thinks better of it, slinking into the room instead.

This is not a conversation with any precedent, Lucio realizes, staring at Genji staring at him. No clichés, nothing common or familiar to lean on. There’s nowhere to begin. “Do you know what… what Mamushi-gumi means?”

Genji blinks rapidly a couple times, stunned. “I…” He swallows. “Yes.”

Lucio feels dizzy for the second time that day. “Are you part of it?” The answering silence slides a blade between his ribs the longer it stretches. He walks past Genji, drops into a chair at the window.

Genji kneels in front of him, lowering himself to plead and beg. “Lucio, I was going to tell you, I promise. When… the time was right. When I thought you were ready.”

“Ready?” The word comes out half a squeak and half a laugh, hysterical. Genji cringes. “When would that be, exactly?” He wants to curl into a ball, shield himself from the entire world, but the most he can do is slump forward and cup his hands over his face. Trying to breath in the measly shelter he creates.

“I know, I know.” Genji sounds pained. A feather-light touch brushes his knee, then retreats. “But I didn’t want to scare you.”

Lucio lowers his hands enough to look at Genji. “They found me,” he whispers, panic rising like bile, tasting sharp and dry, the reality of it all settling in with Genji’s confirmation. The guillotine snapping and falling. “I was just out on the street waiting for you and they found me, dragged me into a car. Made threats. Holy shit, Genji! I stuck my neck out for you man, why didn’t you say something that first night?”

Genji bends forward, hands on the ground and head hanging between his shoulders. “I am sorry, Lucio. I did not want you to get involved in this, please… please forgive me.”

An unfortunate encounter had gotten violent the very first night they’d met. Lucio wonders how exactly Genji planned to keep him from getting involved. He sighs and slumps back in his chair, hugging himself. “You’ve gotta draw less attention, Genji.” He jerks his head up, surprised. “They’re pissed about the club the other night.” He doesn’t know how to say they’re pissed about everything else, too.

He’s silent for a moment, panicking or thinking, Lucio can’t tell from the blank look on his face. As Lucio finally decides he needs to say something, Genji takes a deep breath, pinches the bridge of his nose, and looks up to meet his gaze. “I will not let them hurt you, Lucio. This is an attempt to control me, or something like that. My father will not stand for it. I am going to make this right, whatever it takes.” Lucio’s guard softens, and Genji senses it, reaches his hand gingerly forward to hold Lucio’s. “There’s always a way to fight against injustice.”

“Not everyone is able to put up a fight,” Lucio says, but he rubs his thumb over Genji’s knuckles, grounding himself with a coarse callous on Genji’s palm. “Are you sure this is a good idea? That it will work?” How is he so certain his father was not the one who sent them?

“I do not know.” Genji sounds tired, on the verge of defeat. “But I do not want them to ruin whatever this may be. I can keep them away from you until I have a chance to talk to him, I swear.”

“In the meantime, promise to do what they ask, and just keep your head down?” Lucio squeezes his hand, coaxing, carefully avoiding a commitment. What this may be. It seems enough to satisfy Genji though, as he exhales and nods. He’s still kneeling on the floor in front of Lucio, half-curled and staring at their clasped hands. Pity sweeps over Lucio, who brushes his unoccupied hand through Genji’s hair and sighs. “What now?”

Genji straightens up. “I want to make sure you will feel safe for the next two days,” he says, his voice steady now, resolute. “You should come stay in my apartment.”

Lucio grimaces, imagining his brother’s reaction to finding him once again invading their apartment. “You sure that’s safe? They’re watching you.”

“They already know where to find you,” Genji replies with a shrug. He can’t argue with that. He stands up, letting go of Lucio’s hand as he does. “It’s simply a matter of making sure they cannot get to you. Our apartment is secure.” He smiles, soft. “Trust me.”

Should he? He’s only known Genji for a couple days, and he’s already gotten tangled up in the yakuza because of him. Genji fidgets, sensing his reluctance. “I owe this much to you, Lucio. Please.”

He relents, taking a moment to steel himself, breathing slowly and carefully. After his heartrate has slowed a little, Lucio gets up to pack his belongings scattered through the room. Dirty clothes, including the bloodied hoodie from his first night. Toothbrush, antiperspirant, and medicine from the bathroom. Laptop. Headset. He goes through a mental checklist, the more tactile and immediate concern of gathering his possessions a comforting distraction from the nauseating emotions and anxieties reeling around his head.

Genji stands near the door and watches, brow knotted, carefully placing himself on the edge of Lucio’s space. Out of the way. Lucio compresses the contents of his suitcase as best he can and zips it closed. He looks down at it, takes another deep breath, releases it carefully. Two more days. He just has to get through two more days, that’s not such a big deal. Just crashing at a friend’s place for a couple nights.

He turns back to Genji. “All right. Let’s get out of here.” Out on the street, they take the bus most of the way to Genji’s apartment building, a fifteen-minute ride from Lucio’s hotel. They don’t speak; Lucio uses his phone to occupy his hands and his mind.

When he kicks his shoes off in Genji’s foyer, the apartment feels barren and stark. He realizes now the rich décor is merely a mask of comfort, and the thermostat is kept too cold for Lucio’s liking. He represses a shiver and piles his bags next to the couch. “I’m cool with crashing here,” he says before Genji can offer to give up his bed. The couch embraces him soft and cool when he throws himself on it. How much had it cost? What did he have to do, to whom, to earn this couch? Genji sways on his feet, uncertain, and then declares to the room that he’s going to make some tea.

Lucio tangles a hand in his dreads, staring up at the ceiling, and sighs. He needs to fill his mind with something else, anything other than Genji and gangs and dirty money. He sits up and digs into his things to find laptop, headset, and power cord. Music is healing, empowering. Carefully moving aside the knickknacks populating the coffee table in front of the couch, he sets up his laptop and boots his music mixing software.

He starts with a tempo, solid and steady like a heartbeat. It spreads through his skull, a rejuvenating yellow light that permeates his muscles and eases his nerves. He merely follows it as it grows of its own accord, shaping it under his hands. It doesn’t pound like the beats popular in nightclubs, but this is not a song for nightclubs. It’s just for him, something regular and consistent amidst vicious unfamiliarity. A meager lifeline at 130 beats per minute.

Genji returns soon enough with some kind of herbal tea, placing it on a coaster at Lucio’s elbow and retreating to an armchair. Lucio pulls his headphones down around his neck to thank him and take a sip. “Is that music?” Genji asks, and Lucio nods. They sip tea and struggle to find a way to break through the barrier of silence settling between them.

“Your phone call yesterday,” Lucio starts, speaking to his tea. What had he said? Family business. “Was that something… yakuza-related?”

The grimace on Genji’s face is answer enough. “One of my… coworkers needed backup. I do not think you would appreciate the details of it.”

“No, I’m good.” He turns back to his music, looking at the waves and pulses on the screen. “I just don’t get it. Why’d you join in the first place?”

Genji stiffens, tightening the coil of tension between them. “My father is the _oyabun_ , Lucio. I never really joined, not officially, but I wanted to impress him and continue our… business.” He says the word carefully, trying to soften its meaning. “And I still do. He is my father, he deserves my loyalty.”

“Even breaking the law, Genji? Hurting people?” He grimaces and looks away from Lucio, a million different answers floating in his silence. “You don’t have to… sacrifice your conscience for anyone like that, no matter how they’re related to you.”

He shakes his head and stands up from his armchair. “It’s different,” he states, his voice tightly controlled, “You do not understand.”

Lucio watches him a second, but he turns away and excuses himself to call his father to find out what’s happening. He’s right; Lucio does not understand. He puts his headphones back on and hunches over his music.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> God this chapter kicked my ass. Thank you for reading!  
> Keep up with writing updates on my [tumblr](http://geckosncats.tumblr.com/) or [twitter](http://www.twitter.com/geckosnack).


	4. Chapter 4

Hanzo is definitely not happy to see him again.

“Good evening,” he says with a slight nod, cold enough to suck heat out of the whole room.

Lucio shoots him as genuine a smile as he can muster. “Hey man, what’s good?”

Hanzo blinks at him for a second like he’s trying to decide how to respond to that, then apparently gives up, shrugging out of his coat and draping it over one arm instead. “Genji told me you were only in town for a few more days,” he says, just a shade too terse to be conversational. “I did not expect to see you again.” His gaze settles on Lucio’s bags still piled against the couch, and his eyebrows rise.

“Yeah.” Lucio shrugs, beginning to worry that looks can indeed kill. He can feel his soul withering under Hanzo’s stare. “Uh, there was a problem with my hotel. I’m just crashing here for a couple nights.”

“Are you,” he responds, dry and quiet, like he’s thinking, mulling this information over. He exits the room without saying anything else. Lucio picks up Japanese down the hallway, Hanzo’s gravelly deep voice against Genji’s softer tenor. He knows they’re talking about him. In just a few minutes Genji appears, corners of his mouth drawn tight, a hustle in his step like he’s making an escape. He had vanished a couple hours ago after calling his father, giving Lucio space that he deeply appreciated.

Lucio offers a smile and “Hey,” and Genji smiles back, shoulders easing. He drops next to Lucio on the couch, stretching his legs out long in front of him. “My father can take care of everything,” he says emphatically.

“Cool. What did he say?” Lucio shuts his laptop and sets it aside.

Genji’s smile wavers. “He is a good man, Lucio,” he goes on, “and he would not want innocent people involved or harmed if it could be helped. He will take care of everything.”

Lucio is getting nervous. “What did he _say_?” 

He worries his bottom lip, scratches his cheek, and smiles ingratiatingly. “He was too busy to speak with me. He will come over later this evening.”

“He’s coming here?” Genji nods. “The crime lord is coming _here_ , tonight?”

“He is a good man,” he repeats, verging on desperate for Lucio to believe him. “And he will like you, I know he will.”

“What, the way your brother likes me?” Lucio grimaces. “So far I’m not so popular with your family, man.”

“Hanzo?” Genji waves his hand, dismissive. “He does not mean to be so rude. People just make him nervous. He is nothing like our father, I promise. It will be okay.”

More promises, more trust he’s asking Lucio for. A smile tugs at one corner of his mouth, cautiously. “Yeah, all right. If you say so.”

Genji brightens. “Do not think of him as a crime lord who is my father. Think of him as my father whose job happens to be crime lord.”

In spite of himself, Lucio coughs out a short burst of laughter. He swats his hand at Genji’s arm. “Real helpful. Thanks.”

He laughs. He looks more like himself now that they are venturing back to being on good terms. “Of course.” Genji hops back off the couch and stretches. “I should show you around. Come on.” Lucio has already seen the kitchen, so they pass through it with only a, “You can have whatever you would like in here,” from Genji.

He shows him the bathroom, which contains the largest bathtub Lucio has ever seen. “You use this?” he asks, gawking.

Genji blinks. “Yes?”

Lucio stamps down on the urge to climb into it just to see how well he can stretch out and tears his gaze away. “Huh. Cool.” Genji considers him a moment, deciding whether to be convinced by forced nonchalance, before letting it slip so they can continue deeper into the apartment.

They stop in a tatami room, much like a small living room, and then Genji waves his hand at the next closed door rather than showing him inside. “That is Hanzo’s bedroom, probably best not to disturb him when he’s in there.” He opens the door across from it, saying as he steps inside, “This is my room.”

Lucio has no idea what he expected, but nothing about it is surprising. A pile of clothes slumps in the corner in some ambiguous stage of being cleaned, a few empty mugs on the dresser and the desk await washing, but overall it’s kept organized enough, the walls a soft muted green and covered in posters. A sleek desktop is set up on the desk. Lucio gets a closer look at a framed photo on top of the dresser; Genji and Hanzo standing together, Genji’s face broken out in mid-laugh, one hand on his brother’s shoulder. Hanzo is smiling, reserved but genuine. They both look younger, but Lucio can’t decide by how much.

“You can hang out in here if you’d like,” Genji says, leaning against the edge of his desk. A bamboo sword rests in the corner between the wall and the desk. “It’s probably more comfortable than the couch.” He grins. “And you will be able to avoid Hanzo.”

“He terrifies me,” Lucio admits, touching the leather tip on the sword. “Can I?” At Genji’s go-ahead, he picks it up and grabs the hilt with both hands, mimicking a stance he saw in an old samurai movie and swinging it downward in an arc. It’s heavier than he expected bamboo to be. “Maybe I should have one of these, if he tries to attack me I can defend myself.”

Genji cracks up laughing, bending forward with the force of it, hands on his knees to keep himself upright. “I do not think that would help you much. Here.” He wipes a tear from one eye with his knuckle and then corrects Lucio’s grip, angling his wrist differently and lowering his left hand to the very bottom of the hilt.

“Nah, but I could probably get a few good whacks in before I went down.” Lucio slices the air again, testing the new position. “What’s the word for this thing?”

“ _Shintai_.” Genji crosses his arms over his chest, watching Lucio amuse himself for a minute more. “No need for such a sacrifice. I will protect you.”

Lucio snickers and hands the shintai back. Genji turns it around so the hilt points to the floor and sets it where it had been. “Appreciate it.” He wavers, close enough to Genji to smell his antiperspirant and something softer, shampoo perhaps, and to see the softness glimmering in his dark eyes, eyes focused down on him. He parts his lips and draws in a breath to speak but finds his tongue is too thick and unwieldy to move. Genji unfolds his arms, shifting closer almost imperceptibly. Lucio’s breath catches in his throat.

A buzzer blares through the apartment, making both of them jump. “Oh, geez,” Lucio mumbles, his heart stuttering against his ribs.

Genji grimaces. “My father,” he states, which doesn’t help Lucio settle down in the least. Genji skirts around him and exits the room, and Lucio follows at a distance, hanging back on the other end of the entry hall while Genji gets the door.

There’s nothing spectacular about him. Lucio had prepared himself for an imposing figure composed of sharp angles and cool glances, but the man in the doorway is only a little taller than Genji, bespectacled and dressed in a simple business suit. His hair is graying, thickest at the temples; Lucio thinks of Hanzo’s salt and pepper. He looks like he would own a quiet antique shop or maybe a small grocery, not run a crime syndicate.

Mr. Shimada speaks to Genji in a quiet, soothing voice, his smile deepening the wrinkles around his eyes and mouth. He clasps both hands on Genji’s shoulders and says something that makes Genji squirm and release an embarrassed chuckle. He leans over to take off his shoes, and as he straightens again he catches sight of Lucio hovering at the other end of the hall. His smile flickers, eyebrows lifting toward his receding hairline.

“Oh.” Genji hurries to Lucio’s side. “This is my friend, Lucio. The one I wanted to talk to you about.”

Lucio has the forethought to bow, which seems to please the man, who then offers his hand for a brief handshake. “Uh, nice to meet you, Mr. Shimada.” He hums and nods. 

“Let’s go to the kitchen. I will make tea,” Genji volunteers, and he leads the way, hurrying to put on a kettle while Lucio and his father sit at the dining table. Hanzo enters from the other side of the room, greeting his father and falling into conversation with him. Lucio clasps his hands together under the table, one finger tapping anxiously at the opposite knuckle. 

As he hustles around the kitchen, Genji interrupts Hanzo and rambles for a minute to his father, who watches him with an occasional appraising glance in Lucio’s direction. Lucio fidgets in his lap every time it happens, anxious to know what they’re saying about him.

Genji sits next to Lucio while he waits for the water to boil. “I told him what happened,” he explains quietly. Lucio nods.

“Yes, thank you for bringing this to my attention, young man.” Mr. Shimada takes his glasses off and draws a handkerchief from his suit jacket. He sighs and wipes his glasses. “Can you describe them? What did they look like?”

“The guy who talked to me was tall and skinny. Um. He had a sort of hooked nose?” Lucio shakes his head. “But there was someone else, sitting in the front, he was giving the orders. I didn’t really get a look at him. I don’t think he could speak English.”

Mr. Shimada frowns thoughtfully. “I will look into the matter promptly. Thank you, Lucio.” 

“If the way Genji behaves is causing trouble, perhaps it would be best to listen to their advice and make changes,” Hanzo says, looking at Genji meaningfully.

Genji huffs. “It was not advice, it was a threat.” His shoulders tense, hands tightening into fists on his thighs. “I do not care what they think of me, _I_ am not going to change who I am because of other people.” Hanzo’s glower deepens. This feels like a well-trodden path, every word laced with another meaning that they have explored long before Lucio ever came along. “Would you give into every threat and demand from a few thugs just to save face?”

Hanzo coils and hisses something in Japanese, his eyes flickering to Lucio almost too quick for him to catch. Genji’s chair nearly topples over when he stands abruptly, its legs squealing on the floor.

“Enough, please,” their father sighs. The brothers stare each other down for a second longer before the kettle starts to whistle, and Genji drags himself away to take care of it. Lucio gets up quietly and follows him over to the stovetop.

“Hey, you okay?” he murmurs, peering up at Genji.

He stares resolutely at what he’s doing rather than look at Lucio. “I am fine.”

Lucio glances over at Hanzo, who is rubbing his peppered temples with middle and index fingers while his father talks to him in gentle Japanese. “What did he say?”

Genji shakes his head. “It was rude. I told you he is rude.” He pours hot water into a teapot, trying to brush off Lucio’s concern, but he stands his ground until Genji’s shoulders slump and his brow furrows. “He said he would not let someone who reflects on him make a scene at clubs and parade around with foreign men.”

“Oh.” Shit. Lucio wants to hug him, but with the family in the room he keeps his arms to himself, curling them close around his own body. “Hey, don’t listen to him. He shouldn’t be such an asshole to his brother.”

“I do not care what he says about me. I care what he says about you.” Lucio doesn’t know how to respond to that, he just falls silent and leans a shade closer to Genji, sticking to his side as he finishes preparing the tea.

They each take two cups back to the table. Lucio offers one to Mr. Shimada and keeps the other for himself. He’s probably not going to drink much of it, but he doesn’t want to be rude. “What about the guys at the club? The car dudes said they didn’t want Genji to get hurt. I don’t think they were involved in that.”

Mr. Shimada thanks him for the tea. “Is that so?” He frowns, replacing his glasses, and thinks over a long sip of tea. “If there are not one but two parties trying to get something from you, Genji, maybe it would be best for you to stay quiet for a while after all.”

“What?” Genji whines. “I am not a child, I can take care of myself.”

“Clearly not, without those around you coming to harm,” he says, gently chiding, gesturing to Lucio. Lucio tries not to squirm under the sudden spotlight. Genji slumps, defeated, and cradles his tea in silence. Hanzo, at least, is considerate enough not to look triumphant. “Hanzo, can you make sure he does not go anywhere alone?”

“Of course,” he says, and Genji’s jaw tightens.

“Excellent.” He tilts his head, studying Lucio, lingering on his bruised nose. “I owe you a great deal for all you have done for my son.”

“Ah, no, I mean—anyone would have done the same thing.”

“He was very brave and heroic,” Genji volunteers, dragging himself out of his mood enough to smile softly at Lucio. Lucio widens his eyes a little and kicks at him under the table.

Mr. Shimada hums and leans back in his seat. “I must repay you somehow. Think about it, would you? Anything you would like, any problem you need solved. I am certain we could work something out.”

Mr. Shimada finishes his tea and within half an hour promises his sons they will all have dinner together soon, tells Lucio it was nice to meet him and reminds him to consider the debt, and departs. He leaves the apartment muted and solemn. Lucio sits in the kitchen after Hanzo and Genji have both retreated to their respective rooms, his undrunk tea going cold in front of him.

Mr. Shimada is a quiet old man, doting on and concerned for his children, smiling for a stranger. Lucio tries, and fails, to reconcile it with the powerful lord of a dangerous criminal organization he knows him to be. Eventually, he has to shake it off to deal with more immediate concerns. Genji had looked wounded and dejected the last time he saw him.

Lucio grabs his laptop from where he left it on the couch and carries it to Genji’s bedroom, knocking before he slides open the door. “Hey, can I still hang out in here?” Genji is perched on the foot of his bed, staring at his hands, lips pursed. He looks up and smiles wanly as Lucio enters.

Lucio sits next to him. “So you gotta play it safe for a while. That doesn’t change who you are.” Genji nods. “We could still do something fun. I’ve got music, you got speakers?”

He perks up, standing to unplug a speaker from his desktop and hand it over; Lucio pulls up an EDM playlist and cranks his volume up. “Come on,” he beckons, hopping in what space his room provides. Genji laughs, a blush creeping into his cheeks as he stands and joins Lucio.

It starts awkwardly. Without the pulsing dim lights or pushing crowd of other people, dancing feels far more intimate and self-conscious than it’s meant to be. But Lucio is determined to cheer Genji up, so he pushes through and shakes his ass until Genji laughs and mimics his own version of the same move. “Yeah, come on!” Lucio crows over the music, dragging his hands up behind his head and flipping his hair.

Genji starts getting into it now, grinning ear to ear, closing the distance between them gradually. He grabs Lucio by the hips and pulls him close. Their hips slot together, Genji’s thigh pressing against Lucio’s groin.

“Whoa, hey.” Lucio recoils on reflex.

Genji’s hands fall away immediately. “Sorry.”

“No, it’s okay.” Lucio chews on the inside of his lip and offers a smile. He’s not embarrassed by his body or what is and isn’t in his pants, nor does he have anything to hide, but he hadn’t expected Genji to grind on him. He had hoped to talk to Genji about it on his own time. “Is, uh… this a surprise?”

The smile Genji offers him is warm and serene. “Not really. I mean, I wondered.” He shrugs. “It does not change how lovely I think you are.”

Lucio’s blush burns into the tips of his ears. He grabs Genji by the chin and drags him into a sloppy but soft kiss. A chuckle vibrates out of Genji’s throat. “Thank you,” he sighs when they part. Genji hums and kisses him again.

They find a way to fit together, arms around waists or necks, Lucio on his tiptoes to reach past their height difference, Genji tilting his head for a better angle. Lucio’s blood beats in time with the music. They don’t move separately, drifting as one until Lucio’s back leans against the wall. He hisses and pulls himself up harder against Genji when one of Genji’s hands slides past his waist and grabs him from behind.

“Genji!” Hanzo’s voice calls from the other side of the door. Lucio starts. “Turn the music down, _please_!”

Lucio meets Genji’s gaze, trying to suppress a laugh that manages to escape as a snort. Genji grins, and the two of them quickly devolve into a fit of giggling as Lucio scrambles to turn down the volume. Genji collapses onto his bed, still snickering as he lays spread eagled. “You cannot help but get me into trouble,” he accuses.

Lucio arches his eyebrows, climbing up to sit crosslegged next to Genji’s side. “Think I could say the same for you.” Genji smiles up at him, marginally repentant. Lucio leans over to press a kiss against his cheek.

“I want to go back with you.” The statement makes Lucio pause.

“What?”

Genji pushes himself up onto his elbows, looking at Lucio earnestly now. “When you go back to Brazil. I could go with you.” Lucio’s jaw drops open, but he has nothing to say. Genji sits up, grabs his hands, searches his face pleadingly. “I want go with you.”

“Genji, that’s…” Lucio swallows and shakes his head. “Genji, we just met. And this is your home, all your stuff is here, and your family…”

“Exactly. You have seen what it is like here with them. I could start over, get a real job, try… try to find what I want to do with my life.” Genji grimaces, staring down at their joined hands. “It has nothing to do with you, not much at least. But if I stay here, I will always be living with them behind me, waiting for me to fail. If they even let me go in the first place. There is no future for me outside the gang if I stay in Japan.”

It makes sense. Lucio watches the way Genji stares at their hands like he expects Lucio to let go any minute and his last chance of escape will fade away. Lucio takes a long, steady breath. “How will you do it? Do you have money?”

Genji looks up to meet his gaze, hope rekindling in his eyes. “I will tell my father I want to see you off. I can withdraw money at the airport and buy my ticket there. They do not expect me to do this. They might monitor my accounts on occasion, but by the time they catch on we will be long gone.”

Lucio nods. “What happens if they do catch us?”

Genji shrugs. “Then I am stuck here. They will make sure I do not leave again, but I doubt my father will punish me too severely.” At Lucio’s drawn expression, he smiles and strokes his cheek. “I will not let them harm you, either. It would be simpler for them to just let you go on your way.”

“Okay.” Lucio licks his lips, nods again, squeezes Genji’s hand. He smiles, wavering at first, but it steadies as it grows. “All right. Let’s do it.”

Genji’s face splits into the biggest grin Lucio has ever seen, and he leans forward to wrap his arms around Lucio in a tight hug. “Yes, thank you, Lucio!” He withdraws to frame Lucio’s face in his hands and nearly smothers him in a firm kiss. “I cannot wait to see Brazil. You will teach me to speak Brazilian, right?”

“Portuguese,” Lucio corrects with a laugh, “Of course I will. And I’ll get you into all my local shows.” He nuzzles his face into the crook of Lucio’s neck, elated. “Geez, dude, your nose is cold.” Genji only chuckles.

They stay up late into the night, Genji a never-ending fount of questions about Brazil – the food, the sights, the people – only venturing out of Genji’s room for food. They keep their voices low with music on in the background to drown out what they’re saying, just in case Hanzo passes by and overhears them.

Eventually they tire themselves out, and as it nears 2 in the morning Genji reluctantly points out, “We should sleep. We might not be able to get much rest tomorrow before we have to go.” Lucio agrees around a yawn and starts to slide off the bed. Genji reaches for his hand, then recoils. “You can stay here. Uh, if you want. The couch is probably not very comfortable.”

Lucio looks at him, considering. “Yeah, okay. Let me just get the lights.” He closes the lid on his laptop and flicks the light switch, feeling his way carefully back to Genji’s bed in the dark. Genji, lying on his back, lifts the covers for him to climb underneath and gives him one of his pillows. Lucio curls up on his side, settling next to the warmth of another person with him all too easily. It’s been a while since he had someone to sleep next to. “Good night, Genji,” he breathes into the darkness, closing his eyes.

“Good night, Lucio,” Genji says in response, “Tomorrow will be a good day, I can feel it.”

 

In the morning, Lucio wakes up to Genji trying to crawl over him without disturbing him. “What are you doing?” he mumbles, rubbing one eye.

“Sorry. I did not want to wake you.” Genji grins at him and resumes climbing over his legs to get out of bed. He slips out of the room, and a couple minutes later Lucio hears the muffled whisper of water running down the hall. He drags himself out of the warm covers with a resigned sigh. With Genji in the shower, Lucio finds an outfit from his luggage in the living room and goes back to the bedroom to change, then heads for the kitchen, hoping to figure out how to operate their coffee maker.

Hanzo is there when he arrives, eating breakfast with a newspaper in hand. His hair is loose and unkempt. He takes a long, knowing look at Lucio over the rim of his reading glasses and only says, “Good morning.”

“Morning,” Lucio manages, trying to convince himself he has nothing to be embarrassed about, suddenly much more awake. Hanzo has already made a pot of coffee, and Lucio fills a mug and leans against the counter to wait for Genji.

When Genji arrives, he’s bright-eyed, bare-chested, and full of energy. Lucio tries to mirror his smile, with considerably less cheer; of course Genji is a morning person. He greets Hanzo in Japanese, who responds with about as much enthusiasm as Lucio had. Not a morning person, either. While Genji’s facing his brother, Lucio catches a curl of green on his back. “Is that your ink?”

Genji smiles and turns to give him a better view of his back. A green dragon coils along his spine, storm clouds and flashes of lightning roiling over his shoulder blades. “Yes, do you like it?”

“Yeah, it’s sweet.” He can get a closer look later, when Hanzo isn’t watching and thinking of Lucio emerging from Genji’s room that morning. He takes a drink of coffee. “That why you dyed your hair? To match?”

Genji beams. Hanzo sighs. “He dyed it because I asked him not to,” he interjects, making Genji rolls his eyes.

“I was going to do it before that anyway,” he says, taking a seat at the table and picking a strawberry off Hanzo’s plate. He’s more himself today, more capable in his role as little brother than when their father was present. “It looks cool.”

Hanzo snorts, folding his newspaper and setting it aside. “You need more self-control,” he lectures, “Your recklessness endangers yourself and those around you and makes you a liability.”

Lucio frowns, déjà vu creeping up the back of his brain. Those words are familiar.

“How does dying my hair endanger anybody?”

“It makes you too recognizable. You stand out.”

“You are paranoid.”

“That’s what they said,” Lucio interrupts when it dawns on him. The brothers turn to look at him.

Genji furrows his brow. “What?”

Lucio looks at Hanzo. “That thing about recklessness and liabilities. That’s exactly what the guys who kidnapped me said.”

Genji goes still. Hanzo’s eyes widen. Then he breaths carefully and brings his palms together. “Wait…”

“It was you,” Genji says, and Hanzo flinches as if he’s been stabbed. “You sent them. You sent them to kidnap Lucio, _my friend_ , and told them what to tell him.”

“Genji, it was for your own good, you will not listen to anyone else—“

“That’s how they knew where to find me,” Lucio says. Hanzo stares down at his plate, refusing to make eye contact with either of them. “You knew he was going to meet me.”

Genji looks like he’s going to hyperventilate, chest heaving for breath. He staggers to his feet, walking the length of the kitchen, then whirling back around. “I thought I could trust you. How could you do this?”

Hanzo brings his flattened hands up to his mouth, pressing his index fingers against his lips, and takes a deep breath. “Father always lets you get away with anything, and no one else can do anything about it. You do not think about how your actions affect others and you made yourself too easy a target for the people who came after you that night. I just want you to be safe…”

“You want me to be trapped!” Genji’s fists tremble at his sides, his knuckles white. “You want me to be stuck here with the Mamushi like you are!” Hanzo is stiff and silent, empty of any other excuses or protests. Genji turns to Lucio. “I told you,” he says, quieter now, fury still vibrating in his voice, “I told you. This is what it will always be like.” With that, he stalks out. Down the hall, his door crashes shut a moment later.

The taste of blood fills Lucio’s mouth from biting too hard on the inside of his cheek. He stares down at his coffee, gripped tight between his hands. The air is thick and sour with tension, threatening to crush him. He doesn’t like Hanzo; Hanzo definitely doesn’t like him. His methods certainly leave much to be desired. But Genji’s words have clearly struck a chord, judging by how Hanzo has folded in on himself and covered a hand over his eyes. Damn Lucio and his tender heart.

“I’ll talk to him when he calms down,” Lucio offers gently. Hanzo drags his hand down his face and sighs raggedly, nodding. Lucio sets his cup in the sink and leaves to give the man space.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come find me on [tumblr](http://geckosncats.tumblr.com/) and [twitter](http://www.twitter.com/geckosnack/). As always, thank you for reading!


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